Old Friends
by DrawMeASheep
Summary: Crack. Tony wasn't always afraid of rats.


Disclaimer: Owning NCIS is for losers. I'm glad I don't own it. ::sniffle:: Curse you, reverse psychology!

Spoilers: Eh, _Chimera_ for sure and _SWAK_ a little, I guess. And _Smoked_? Anything with rats or plague on the menu. Mmm…appetizing.

Summary: Cracky. Tony may hate rats now, but it wasn't always that way. Picture it – Sicily, 1913…wait, wrong show.

* * *

Tony stared straight ahead at his computer screen, attempting to concentrate on the report that didn't officially exist about the mission that hadn't happened on the ship that never was. If only the helicopter (which was also retroactively a figment of his imagination) had dropped them at Area 51 for the debriefing that hadn't… He allowed his head to drop onto his blotter, hoping the blow would cause some amnesia so he could be rid of the exertion of forgetting. "Argh!"

"Frozen computer again? Shall I call McGee?"

Tony made the effort to greet Ziva's smirk with a grimace and grunted, "No. Got it covered." As an afterthought he added a sarcastic, "Thanks."

She huffed in an annoyed way and went back to typing. He resisted the urge to ask if she'd been the valedictorian of her Moussad word processing class and rested his head on his arms. His report was never going to be finished. How people managed to maintain their sanity while working black ops was completely beyond him. Well, not completely… He pressed the bridge of his nose harder against his forearm, considering how working deep cover had tested him. Was there a point when you lost yourself completely? In the interest of finding something not involving personal introspection, he was about to ask the only real spy he knew that very question when something small and fuzzy dropped down the back of his collar. "What the…?"

Ziva sing-songed, "Rat got you neck?"

He was too distracted by the fact that it was now necessary to jump out of his chair and focus all his concentration on not screaming like a little girl to mock Ziva's tone. A few seconds and contortions later he was holding a cotton ball in his hand. "_Not_ funny, David. Did we not go over the whole plague thing?"

"Oh no!" She stood and threw her hands in the air in bogus distress. "I know your weakness! How wrong of me to exploit it!"

"Ha ha." He dropped the unusually heavy piece of cotton on his desk. "Would it kill you to be a little more sensitive?"

"Are you offering me lessons, perhaps? Because if it were McGee with a fear of rats, he would be finding them in his desk on a daily basis."

"But they wouldn't be real," Tony whined. He absently stroked the cotton ball with the tip of his index finger, allowing his mind to drift as he sank into his seat. "It wasn't always like this…"

* * *

Little Anthony DiNozzo ducked through the back door, or 'servant's entrance' as his father called it, clutching the strap of his backpack tightly as he slipped through the empty kitchen into the pantry. Seizing several items in his small hands, he made his way silently toward the stairs. His stepmother had yelled at him for blowing bubbles in his cereal milk at breakfast and he was not eager to see her before dinner. Or at dinner, for that matter. He just knew he wasn't going to get dessert tonight until Fanny snuck it up to him later.

He paused as he heard voices in the hallway and hid behind an ugly statue as his father passed with a couple of other men in suits, loudly talking about the stock market. His father wasn't mad at him as far as he knew, but interrupting something business-related was the fastest way to no dessert for a week. And when his father said it, it actually meant no dessert. Tony clutched his pilfered goods more tightly, waiting until his father had exited into the study before bounding up the staircase.

When he arrived in his room, he dropped his prizes and backpack on his bed, hurriedly taking out a notebook and his math book to make it look like homework was a priority. He carefully tucked the small packages from the pantry into his pockets and quietly moved a small bookcase aside. The hidden hole in the plaster was starting to become a tight squeeze; soon he was going to have to start taking the regular entrance if he wanted to get up to the attic. For now, his shortcut through the crawl space would be just fine.

The attic was deceptively empty when he emerged, dusty and winded from his climb. He fumbled above his head for the pull-string on the single 60-watt bulb that would light his small corner. When it clicked on, a flurry of movement occurred all around him. "It's all right. It's just me," he cooed.

Little glowing dots appeared in dark corners, behind boxes and between supporting beams of the roof. Tony began removing things from his pockets. The crackers and cheese didn't prove tempting enough, so he pulled out his old standby. He unwrapped the Hershey Kiss and placed it on the floor. As usual, it was enough to draw out the first of his little friends. He whispered, "Hi, Mickey."

The rat held the chocolate in its two paws and sat on its haunches. The moment he began to eat, the other rats cautiously began to come forward. Tony crossed his legs and sat on the floor. Seeing his friends settled to their meals, he said, "You guys won't believe the day I had! First that stupid old bat Mrs. Carter yelled at me and made me bang the erasers after class, even though I told her it was Joey who hit Marie with the spitball. And then Joey tried to beat me up at recess for being a tattletale, but he's a big fat baby so I just kept running around until he lost his breath and fell down."

He leaned back, laughing softly as two rats scampered over his legs. He reached forward and rubbed the fur on Mickey's head. "I love you guys. You always listen and you never judge me. We'll always be friends, right?"

Happy squeaks sounded all around him, joining the crunching of oversize incisors and clicking of tiny toenails on the wood.

* * *

"Wasn't always like what?"

Tony's head snapped up and he found that Ziva was sitting on his desk. "What?"

"You said, 'It wasn't always like this,' then you got foggy-eyed."

"Misty-eyed," he corrected, rubbing his eyes to make it appear that he was simply fighting sleep. "And I was just going to say that I didn't always hate rats. Then I had the plague and…there you go."

She looked like she was about to push further, but instead she stood. "Eat your chocolate and finish your report."

"Chocolate?"

She smiled. "I needed a weight for the cotton."

Tony dug into the soft cotton and found a Hershey Kiss. "Thank you." He waited until he was sure she was no longer watching to begin gnawing on it.


End file.
